They'd Burn Alike
by vikuyuri
Summary: Ciel and Sebastian are tasked with investigating a cell of traitors conducting business in a seedy artists' salon. To keep Ciel safe from unwanted advances during the investigation, Sebastian proposes they pretend to be in a relationship.


"I've discovered where the conspirators meet, my lord," said Sebastian. His gloved hands were steady as he poured Ciel's tea, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of disapproval in his voice.

Ciel waved away the silent suggestion of sugar or cream and lifted the cup. Too hot to drink, but he liked to watch the steam curling away into the air. "Please tell me it isn't another brothel," he said. He wished England's criminal underground would find less lascivious meeting points. Brothels were always so awkward to infiltrate—even at fifteen, nobody believed he was there to _purchase_ , and he always spent more of the night evading perverts than finding clues.

"No, my lord." Sebastian did not quite smirk, but it was close. "You recall the ringleader dabbles in poetry; he is a member of a society of likeminded artists."

"And I won't have to dress like a girl again, will I?" asked Ciel. No matter how dangerous the radical terrorist cell was, there were some things he still hated to do in the Queen's service. He'd had to wear a dress again only a month ago, infiltrating a corrupt opera house, and he was _certain_ Sebastian had only insisted on the ruse for his own amusement.

Sebastian had the gall to laugh. "No, my lord. There's no shortage of young men hanging about the group. Though, if my sources are to be believed, that may pose quite another problem.

Ciel set down his teacup. "What sort of problem?" he asked, though he had a fair idea already.

"The young men, most of them actors, the occasional servant or urchin plucked up in charity, are often seen as—available, to the men of the group."

Ciel wrinkled his nose. Yet another aspect to add to the investigation. If the young men were being abused, he'd feel obligated to release them by any expedient means. But he'd come to learn over the past several years of associating with London's underbelly that not all deviance was unwelcome. It was just as likely the young men were manipulating their older patrons.

Still, though. "I do not wish to be seen as available," he said firmly. There were times it was necessary to play the lure; he did not think this was one of them.

Sebastian nodded. "Yes, my lord. You are, of course, free to reject any advances."

Ciel rolled his eyes. "If this is the den of iniquity you paint it as, I doubt such rejections would not cause a stir. You must find me another solution."

Sebastian gave half a bow. "Of course, my lord. I've given the matter some thought. If you seem to be already spoken for, I believe it should deter most advances. The rest you can gracefully decline by means of your prior commitment."

Ciel stared. "With you?"

"That was to be my next point."

Ciel reached for a scone and took the butter knife when Sebastian passed the dish to him. He wasn't blushing. Certainly, he wasn't blushing. And besides, he couldn't think of a more elegant alternative. The pretense would give Ciel a reason to accompany Sebastian in the first place, since he'd never met their contact, in addition to helping him fend off unwanted advances. "Very well," he said. "I look forward to seeing you hopelessly besotted with me."

Though maintaining a serene facade was by now second nature, Ciel felt terribly exposed as they entered the conspirators' hideout. He was dressed too simply—no coat, only slim-fitting vest and shirt.

It was a discreet little salon. A shabby little building in a shabby part of town. The combined cost of the cheap wine bottles strewn about certainly matched the cost of the building itself. The well-dressed dilettantes within seemed to revel in the show of poverty. Second sons and distaff cousins all of them—nobody Ciel recognized, thankfully. There were perhaps two dozen people in the room. Mostly men, but a handful of women. Ages ranged from only a year or two older than Ciel to one man in his fifties, but most seemed to be in their late twenties or early thirties. Ciel could pick out the actors, urchins, writers, and nobles by their dress, though everyone was dressing above or below their proper station.

Most paid Ciel no mind. They were far more interested in Sebastian. The butler cut a striking figure, all in black save the deep red of his cravat and the rubies at his cuffs. It was rather melodramatic, Ciel thought, but everyone else seemed very impressed. He blamed it on the wine.

Time to begin assessing the situation. There was a small knot of young people chattering in the corner, and he started moving in their direction when a hand caught his elbow.

"And where do you think you're going?" said Sebastian warmly. Not an order, he wouldn't dare, but a reminder that they had a role to play. Sebastian apparently had particular ideas about how to play it.

Ciel forced himself to smile instead of glare, and acquiesced to follow Sebastian towards a group at the back of the smoky room. Two nobles, two artists, and one man Ciel could not quite classify. He had to be the ringleader, Lord Greene. They'd all stood as Sebastian and Ciel approached, and one of the artists—a sculptor, Ciel remembered from the briefing on their contact—took it upon himself to introduce Sebastian to the group. No personal introductions for Ciel; Sebastian merely said, "And this is my friend, Charles."

As his hand lingered on Ciel's shoulder, the other men smiled.

Ciel affected boredom and kept his eyes on Sebastian. There was some reason he'd prevented him from interrogating the other youths. It must be because the ringleader was here after all. They hadn't anticipated his presence. As he was by all accounts a sharper man than most of those in his circle, this operation had turned into a trust-building exercise rather than an intelligence mission. It was too dangerous for the newcomers to interview the old guard.

This left Ciel with little to do but stay close and wait until it was no longer rude to leave.

They sat together on an overstuffed sofa. Ciel barely hesitated before shifting as close as he could to Sebastian's side. Their thighs pressed together and Sebastian casually, without even looking, placed a hand on Ciel's knee.

Well-accustomed to the demon's touch, Ciel simply settled in closer and let his gaze drift around the room. He'd become invisible the moment Sebastian laid a hand on him. The lack of attention was refreshing, actually. Perhaps they should do this more often; he was free to simply listen in on the banal conversation and observe the salon's other occupants.

Most were entirely uninteresting. Two young actors were flirting over a shared flask, and Ciel briefly met the eyes of the older man watching them. A woman, a painter by her hands, gestured too grandly and laughed too loudly to the two lordlings she held entranced.

Another young woman was the only one who held Ciel's attention. She was in her early twenties and wore her brown hair in long, loose curls. Her accent was just a few steps up from the gutter, but her dress was expensive from the fabric to the cut to the tailoring. More significantly, she seemed to be making a methodical circuit of the room. She spoke briefly in turn to each small group she passed, and her eyes were constantly roving.

Ciel kept his expression carefully blank when she looked his way. From the attention she paid to this corner, she was clearly Lord Greene's creature patrolling the salon.

Yes, Sebastian had made the right call keeping Ciel at his side. Perhaps Ciel would even admit it to the butler's face.

Long fingers shifted along his thigh, and Ciel utterly lost his train of thought.

He glanced up. Sebastian was listening intently to their contact, who was explaining something about Lord Whatsit's abominable prose and the injustice of its positive reviews. Sebastian nodded slightly, as if this were the most fascinating subject in the world. He gave no sign that his gloved fingers were idly stroking the inside of Ciel's thigh.

The touch was gentle, soothing, and Ciel masterfully repressed the urge to punch his butler in the face. The small smile on Sebastian's lips wasn't for Lord Greene's benefit. The bastard was enjoying this, and Ciel suddenly was unsure if their scheme really had rescued him from unwanted advances—rather, it had condemned him to them.

It was just like Sebastian to screw with him in a situation where he couldn't in good conscience protest.

Very well; two could play that game, and Ciel refused to let Sebastian see him discomfited. He slipped his hand under and around to grasp Sebastian's upper arm, leaned against like he was clinging for balance. He tilted his head to rest soft against Sebastian's shoulder, and was gratified when Sebastian's hand stilled.

One of the lesser lords was staring at them, and Ciel felt safe enough in glaring at him until his gaze broke.

"And how did the two of you meet?" asked Lord Greene with a smile. The name was a pseudonym, Sebastian had conveyed, and he'd clearly picked it for the sharpness of his eyes. He was handsome, well-groomed, and very confident.

Sebastian laughed lightly, and surely only Ciel could hear the haunting note that always edged his voice. But he said nothing, and the question was Ciel's to answer.

Ciel sat up a bit, though he kept his grip on Sebastian's arm. "I was making a delivery, and Lord Sebastian delayed me overlong." He paused long enough to let the men chuckle knowingly, then offered an over-petulant glare up to Sebastian. Luckily the butler's smirk was in character. "He delayed me so long I was fired upon my return."

"Sebastian, what a dreadful thing to do," said the sculptor.

Ciel barely muffled a yelp as Sebastian squeezed his knee and picked up the tale. "Yes, he showed up at my doorstep the next day demanding I find him a position to make up for the loss."

"And what then?" asked Lord Greene.

"Well," drawled Sebastian, squeezing Ciel's knee again. "I _found_ him a 'position.'"

Ciel's cheeks heated and he looked away. Bastard demon. Bad enough the whole room thought they were fucking. He couldn't meet the men's eyes, couldn't know if they were imagining what those positions might have been. He wished again for a jacket.

Sebastian's fingers stroked soothingly along his thigh again, and he let the touch calm him as the conversation moved on. He wasn't listening quite as well as he had been, for he was taken by surprise when Sebastian and the rest stood up.

"I'd love to show you the draft," said Lord Greene. "I don't like to boast, but I do think it has potential."

"Certainly," said Sebastian. "Charles, pet, why don't you pour yourself a drink and I'll be back in a moment."

"Yes, Sebastian." No harm if a bit of his petulance shone through.

As Sebastian, Lord Greene, and the sculptor vanished into a back room, Ciel decided he may as well follow the demon's suggestion.

Winding his way through the clouds of smoke and melodramatic gesticulations that filled the room, he made his way over to the side table. There were a number of half-empty bottles open on the table, and a mismatched array of dubious glassware. He selected the cleanest looking stemmed glass and picked up the only white with a legible label. Nothing he recognized, but at least he'd be able to give Sebastian the name of the vintage if it ended up poisoning him.

Ciel sipped at it. Passable. Warm. He recalled it was past suppertime, and he hadn't eaten since lunch. He would have to chastise Sebastian later for neglecting that detail. Ciel tugged at his shirtsleeves. He wanted to roll them down and cover his forearms, but they'd be hopelessly wrinkled and he'd look even more of a mess.

He took another sip and surveyed the room. The thought of resuming his planned interrogation or even just making conversation held no appeal. He couldn't even see the brown-haired woman he'd noted earlier, and nobody else was worth the attention. Anyway, surely it would not look amiss if the shy delivery boy remained silently with his glass on the edge of the room.

He sulked thus for a good ten minutes, and with each passing moment grew steadily more annoyed with Sebastian's absence.

Then a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Ciel flinched, nearly spilling his wine. He should have heard the man approach, and he pulled from the grasp to face him.

"Did I startle you? My apologies," slurred a thick voice. It was the man who'd been staring at him on the couch. He was tall, underfed, and reeked of smoke.

"It's fine," said Ciel, wishing he carried a walking stick to jab into the lordling's eye. His fist, of course, would do in a pinch.

"You looked lonely," said the man. His gaze seemed fixated somewhere along Ciel's pale neck. "And your friend seems to have abandoned you.

This scheme of Sebastian's was useless. Ciel took too long a swig of the wine. He didn't choke, but his eyes smarted. "I don't think so," he said shortly. A walking stick and a jacket. That's all he needed.

"Oh?" And the man's hand crept again over Ciel's shoulder, crawled up to toy with the edge of his collar. His breath was close, hot, tinged with whiskey. "Then what is your friend doing in such close discussion with Lady Dahlia?"

Ciel pushed the lordling aside and scanned the room again. At last, there was Sebastian, standing by the unlit fireplace in close conversation with the young woman Ciel had been watching earlier. She had her hand on Sebastian's arm as she spoke.

Ciel had seen that expression on Sebastian's face before. It was the soft, predatory look he wore when resorting to more than his wiles to extract information. He'd seen it with the nun, with the seamstress, with the duchess, the pirate queen, the _other_ nun—and that was all well and good. Evidently quite the successful tactic.

But this time, Ciel felt a surging anger. They had an _agreement_ tonight, and Ciel was more than fulfilling his part in the ruse. For Sebastian to spend the night flirting with someone else—

Ciel gritted his teeth. "Fucking demon," he muttered.

The man at his side laughed, but Ciel was no longer paying him attention. He set his glass on the table and forced himself to walk slowly across the room. Regardless of the role he played, it would be unbecoming to stomp his feet like a child out of jealousy. And of course, he wasn't jealous, he told himself. He was upset. He was right to be upset. Sebastian was disrespecting their bargain, and therefore disrespecting Ciel, his lord and master.

Sebastian glanced up at his approach. He smiled, but did not pull away from Lady Dahlia.

"Darling," said Sebastian, eyes dancing. "Is something the matter?"

Lady Dahlia turned her bright eyes to him too, and Ciel realized he had no idea what to say. He didn't know if anyone else was listening. He didn't care. All he wanted was for Sebastian to step back and for the woman to remove her impertinent hand from _his_ butler's arm. He was flushed with the wine— _not_ with embarrassment—and his mind too muddled to divert the subject. His marked eyes stung behind the patch.

The best he could do was say, "I thought you'd find me when you returned." And if he placed undue emphasis on the word _me_ , if his voice was high with nerves, well, he'd die before confessing it.

Lady Dahlia's slim fingers tightened on Sebastian's sleeve, then let go. "So this is your Charles," she said to Sebastian. She was almost of a height with the demon, and spoke right over Ciel's head. "I can't believe you left him alone with this rude lot."

Sebastian turned his smile back towards her. "I was barely gone a moment," he said.

Ciel had never so desperately wanted even a few inches more of height, to at least reach Sebastian's shoulders. Maybe if he didn't look like such a child, he wouldn't be ignored like one—and yes, so he'd wanted to slip unnoticed through the night. But not like this. Not by Sebastian.

Scowling, on the verge of storming from the room, he corrected, "It's been twenty minutes, at least. _My lord._ " He tried to spit the last words, but they came out a shade too plaintive. Almost whining.

A thrill of victory twisted inside him as Sebastian stepped closer. The familiar intrusion into his personal space was at once comforting and frightening. "You're so impatient," teased Sebastian, and that was nothing new, he always teased. Just—just never with quite that predatory look in his eyes.

Ciel wondered how foolish Sebastian's conquests must be, not to flee in the face of that hungry gaze. How foolish he was, to stand still now.

The girl laughed. "Oh, do make it up to the boy. He's so sincere, it's utterly charming."

"Did you hear that?" asked Sebastian, fingers light along Ciel's jaw as he spluttered. "She thinks you're sincere, little minx."

There was a moment, as Sebastian bent towards him. A breath of pause in which he could turn aside and escape the touch. It would be the smart thing to do. There was only so far he was obliged to go for sake of a stupid ruse the damned demon wasn't even playing. He could step back.

Instead, he stood still, and closed his eyes as Sebastian kissed him.

He'd been kissed before, but never like this. Never gently, never cool fingers cupped along his cheek, never a choice to stand or flee. Never his own hand free to clutch at Sebastian's shoulder, to claw his own mark. The sweetness and promise of shadow and blood. Soft lips, touch of tongue, stuttering heartbeat—he could live without air if he only had this.

He'd been wrong, he thought dizzily. If this was a kiss, he'd never been kissed before.

Only when Sebastian pulled away did Ciel remember the rest of the room's inhabitants. Flushed, he looked around—the crowd had dwindled, and every lordling, poet, and starving actor in the room looked away with a smile when he met their gaze.

They didn't matter, Ciel realized, heart pounding, as if Sebastian's touch had restored him to clarity. Every man and woman in this room was either a traitor or a fool, and they'd all burn alike by the end of this. He didn't have to care what the not-yet-dead might think of him. Not when he found himself so fascinated with the dark fondness in Sebastian's eyes.

Ciel sank inward to his thoughts, though he remained the image of compliance as Sebastian traded a few last pleasantries with Lady Dahlia, conferred briefly with their contact, and led Ciel from the salon.

Sebastian had played him, Ciel mused, but now he could see the breadth of the game. The ruse had been flawed right from the start. These drugged-out artists weren't the type to respect prior commitments. Not a completely useless scheme—it was a good enough excuse for Ciel's presence—but Sebastian had framed it in terms of protection and then neglected him. The demon had wanted Ciel to feel affronted. The demon had wanted Ciel to seek him out.

The demon had wanted Ciel.

So the cold demon could not resist _all_ temptation after all. He kept himself, starving, from Ciel's soul, yet now he schemed for flesh as well. Sebastian knew so many of Ciel's weaknesses, and Ciel knew so few of his, but perhaps he could somehow exploit this hunger. Play the touch-starved child of nightmares, build up his shame in a wall to be torn down. Learn something of Sebastian to even the scales

And if Ciel got lost in kiss or two along the way, well, he supposed that couldn't be helped.

As Sebastian helped him into the carriage, Ciel let his bare hand linger just a breath too long in the butler's gloved grasp. "I'd like a bath," he said, "when we get home."

Sebastian climbed into the carriage behind him. His smile was cold, but his voice burned like embers: "Yes, my lord," he said, and closed the door.


End file.
